


Hiraeth

by Reeeading



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Xu Ming Hao | The8-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 01:56:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reeeading/pseuds/Reeeading
Summary: Minghao had seen him four times.
Relationships: Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again another story~ This is a story I dedicate for Serafade after all the supports and encouragements given <33 Hope I don't disappoint you as fantasy is not really my field:')) Do tell me your thought on this and hope you enjoy reading it ;))

_I._

Long hair, beautiful draping robes, crunches sound of dry leaves being stepped on; Minghao with his all too big eyes only stared in silence. His doll was clasped tightly in his hands. His lips parted in such a way a fish out of water usually did. His short limbs froze and refused to move; he gaped.

Never had Minghao, even in one of his wildest dreams, entertained the idea of witnessing something so ethereal in front of his eyes.

The man whirled around and Minghao suddenly forgot how to breathe. His lungs shriveled and throat closing, dry leaves one by one left their branches and raided his vision.

Tall nose, buttoned lips, snow-white skin; the man glowed his own light. Minghao’s eyes could only grew impossibly wider. And as their eyes met, the universe collapsed, glasses shattered and clocks stopped — the time froze.

Minghao once imagined heaven to sound like water; peaceful and slow, caressing his ears the way it gently pushed his paper boat, imagined it to sound sweet and sloppy like the syrup his mother poured over his pancakes, imagined it to sound like morning sun and chirping birds. But, _no;_ heaven didn’t sound like any of those. Instead, it sounded like;

_“Minghao?”_

**_His name._ **

\---

Minghao always acts before he thinks. Wet, soaking pair of socks make a hole to unravel a part of himself. The smell of Earth freshly out of shower fills his nose, died branches crunch underneath his feet. The angry night wind is lashing out on him as Minghao tightens his sweater.

Minghao continues running.

\---

_II._

In his room, warm after hours of turned on heater, Minghao stuck closer to his cold window. The world had been a haze for quite some time and his breath was enhancing up that haziness. Layers of white spread all over the town.

For weeks, nothing seemed to had come and greeted his sight but white; Minghao had easily grown tired of it. Thus, rather than the carefully white-washed books, he picked the yellowish old one instead.

Rusty smell quickly wrapped around him like a blanket, words and letters danced around him while lips were mumbling as if he was casting an ancient spell. Colorful illustrations no longer excited him, old poem did.

Most of the time, it spellbound him; trapped him in the illusion of his own little world and locked him within, setting a safe distance between him and the present.

But, on that particularly cold day, the poem somehow lost its magic. Minghao’s eyes broke from its spell and traveled far out the window; scanning the scenery the way they did lines in books – studied and examined it until they found a disturbingly misplaced dot. 

_A dot._

Minghao recognized that dot. But the overwhelming feeling suddenly came crashing on him, though; Minghao didn’t recognize. Their eyes met.

_That man; was his old poem._

\---

Minghao cannot stop. His feet are taking the lead while his brain is the one yielding. The fog is getting thicker, Minghao is ought to budge. Crowns of baby’s-breath stick out to him despite the darkness surrounding him.

Minghao walks farther into the wood; bordering on the unknown. Heart is heavy with emptiness. He pushes his glasses.

\---

_III._

When the flowers bloomed, so did Minghao’s curiosity overran his sanity. He didn’t remember growing up, yet at some point realized his mother had stopped reading him to bed, stopped joining him in bed, foods no longer put in front of his mouth, and clothes no longer chosen for him. His hair was no longer short and a pair of glasses had made his nose its everlasting throne.

And, as much as Minghao couldn’t remember growing up, he also couldn’t remember since when his curiosity had grown and stacked. At some point the color white had become too overbearing, Minghao could cry for hours just by looking at it.

When he closed his eyes; white fox trespassed his eyelids and filled his vision. A hazy man hid behind the white fox and Minghao felt that surge came rushing onto him again.

During one of those particular days, Minghao would choose to spend it cooped up between his stacks of old books. Sleeve-less clothes wrapped around his body, winds blowing air to tickle one by one of his ribs. The sun above hugged his frame, the water from the pool in front of him was quiet as it always had been. His legs were crossed as he lay lazily with his books sprawled all over him above the wet towel.

He read, and read, and read, and read, and read… until his eyelids grew heavy and heavier than the emptiness in his heart. During one of those particular days, he dreamt; his old poem came and pressed his cold hands onto his eyes. Minghao would then smile before finally drifted in peace; not from the cool, but from the fulfillment.

Since then on, his heart met home whenever spring came. He slept.

\---

_Splash, splash, splash._

The water splashes beneath his feet. His shoes are wrecked, foxes are howling somewhere, yet Minghao can’t pull himself to stop. Something in his gut shouts at him; yells at him, _calls_ for him to submit to its order.

Minghao ventures deeper. Green book in his hand; dried petals falling. He crushed it.

\---

_IV._

There was nothing likeable from summer. Minghao sweat, the sun burnt his skin, his clothes stuck uncomfortably. As if not enough, summer also meant being imposed to the only responsibility Minghao wasn’t particularly fond of. He wasn’t supposed to say it out loud, but Minghao hated it when he had to look after his cousin.

Little Chan was too energetic for someone like Minghao – an old soul trapped in a rusty corpus; which clicked and clanged whenever moved. He groaned, “Slow down, Chan.”

The little boy of course didn’t listen.

In times like this, Minghao was supposed to follow the boy; pushed his body to its very limits he shouldn’t be able to leave bed the next day. But, no; Minghao’s eyes trailed after another man instead. It was very irresponsible of him, but Minghao only handed Chan his phone; ordering him to call his parent as Minghao fled after the shadow and left him behind.

_If Minghao heard a cry, it wasn’t Chan’s._ He didn’t turn around.

Thinking back, it was funny how Minghao never remembered growing up yet at the same time he partly had and hadn’t grown. As his feet took over the lead, Minghao’s steps turned shorter and shorter; his long limbs shrunk and shrunk. His pace stepped up. He truly had never really grown out of his curiosity. He was still the same boy from years ago. He gaped.

The same long hair, the same robes, different time and set; the man was smiling. Fireflies were surrounding them, blinding Minghao with their light. The man’s face was out of his sight thanked to the insects.

Minghao tried swatting them away. Yet as the fireflies dispersed and fled, so was the man. His heart plummeted to his stomach; a red rose lay on his stead. Minghao picked it up.

Later, he went home to his mother whose face was as red as that rose. The rest of that summer; he spent grounded. Minghao regretted nothing.

_“Wait for me for a little while longer, My Love.”_

\---

Long hair, beautiful draping robes, crunches sound of dry leaves being stepped on; Minghao stops. He finally remembers his face. The white fox sits behind the man and tears run down Minghao’s face; spilling out the same way all his dammed curiosity did. His voice cracks, “Who are you?” 

The full moon shines brightly behind the man. He smiles just as blindingly, Minghao’s heart aches. 

“I’ve finally come to pick you up, My Love.” He strides. Minghao stays. “Come.” He stretches a hand. Minghao tak –

.

.

.

_Butterflies twirl and stars intertwine, fates are sealed, the moon collides with the sun. Pictures fly, puzzles get back in piece._

Minghao’s head bursts; his eyes snap. His heart breaks into chunks; tears spill. He chokes.

_“Jun…hui?”_

“ _Yes, My Love. You’ve finally remembered. Come.”_

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading<33  
> By chance, since I'm experimenting to write in a slightly different way than what I'm used to, I'll clear some things out:
> 
> 1\. Jun was a Moon God! The white fox was his pet thus why it played some great part to Minghao's memories and feelings.  
> 2\. Minghao was reincarnated as mortal; thus why he couldn't remember Jun.  
> 3\. Jun wasn't allowed to meet Minghao before the mortal came-of-age thus why he came to pick him up. 
> 
> So, is this classified as fantasy? Please, tell me on the comment down bellow :'))


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